Chapter 9: The Truck

The movers had already lowered the ramp when Eli's truck came around the corner.

He parked across the end of my driveway and got out with a wrench in his back pocket.

"Morning, gentlemen," he said to the two movers. "Are you licensed to carry furniture into a house in dispute?"

The younger mover looked at the older one.

"Nobody told us about a dispute," the older mover said.

"There's a dispute," Eli said. "There's a petition, a lawn, and my sister. I'm only telling you so nobody lifts anything they can't put back."

Patrice came down the porch steps in her lilac suit.

"Don't listen to him. My son owns half this house. He has every right to move in his things."

"His things are on the lawn," Eli said. "I put them there. Ask the neighbors."

Across the street, my neighbor stood on her porch with her phone held up in both hands.

"I'm just filming the weather," she called.

"It's overcast," Eli called back.

"It's about to get interesting."

Patrice turned toward her, and her mouth went thin.

"Put that away. This is a family matter."

"You brought a truck," the neighbor said. "That makes it a neighborhood matter."

I stood in my doorway with the folder in one hand.

Behind me, Rafe appeared in the hall.

He had put on shoes. He had put on the canvas jacket, too, and he leaned on the door frame with his arms crossed.

"Need anything?" he said to me quietly.

"Stay there," I said. "Be tall."

"I can do that."

Patrice marched up to the door.

"I will not have a stranger in my son's house," she said. "Who is this man?"

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